


Magnificent Mansion Mishap

by TallFlower



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, feat. a shifty ginger wizard, oh no there is only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26637904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TallFlower/pseuds/TallFlower
Summary: A miscalculation has led to Widogast's Magnificent Mansion having one less room than expected. Oh no! How will our heroes Beauregard and Yasha solve this issue? Stay tuned...
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 20
Kudos: 227





	Magnificent Mansion Mishap

Beauregard Lionett opened the door, letting out a low whistle as her eyes surveyed the room. 

The four walls were a plain off-white, lined with dark wooden skirting boards. The planks beneath her feet were made of a similar wood — walnut if she were to hazard a guess. A duo of rugs surrounded the king-sized bed, their corners overlapping. One was a simple grey, the other a deep teal with white diamond shapes. 

Hanging above was a circular, metallic chandelier. The candles were already lit, casting the bedroom in a cosy orange glow. The flames fluttered and danced as Beau closed the door and moved farther into the bedroom.

She had to admit, Caleb had taste.

Decor included a large replogle globe, a few ornate boxes to keep her trinkets and weapons and a dresser to place any spare clothes. But something did catch her eye. Something unusual. A tattered grey tapestry right above the dresser. It depicted a labyrinth of intricate silver lines that would loop and cross each other. It was a complex web of spirals, knots, and foliage like leaves and flowers. Upon closer inspection, Beau realized it was a tree. And just above that tapestry, a piece of driftwood with hanging feathers, beads, and what looked like a necklace of jagged teeth. 

_Not exactly my style, but it's cool,_ she thought to herself. 

She passed it, not giving it a second glance, gravitated to the other side of the room. There, under an arched window, was a desk. It was a simple plank of wood upon strong iron legs, each at a jaunty angle as if it was stretching before a pleasant jog. A vase of wolfsbane by the window. A few empty notebooks. And a stack of papers. Perched on top of them was a turtle-shaped paperweight. 

Either side of the desk was framed with bookshelves — standing tall and adorned with inky treasures. Devil's ivy pooled around the top and down the side of the shelves, their leaves glossy and heart-shaped.

Beau quickly peaked out of the window, only to be met with the pleasant view of Nicodranas' colourful rooftops, towers, and calming sea. The sun had sunk in the sky, the light of day draining away, giving way to the velvety dark of night. 

A faint smile spread across her face as she placed a hand on one of the bookcases. Her fingers traced the swirls of the grain. 

All the furniture looked as though it were found washed up on the beach. Once part of a mighty sailing ship, now resting in their forever harbour. In the corner of this mansion. In the corner of this room. Her room.

There were a few things she would ask Caleb if he could change — tone down with all the plants, a significantly smaller bed, maybe ask to replace the tapestry with a corkboard so she could hang up essential notes. But she couldn't help but feel as though she were home.

 _I'm getting soft,_ she scolded herself.

She opened the door to the ensuite, shedding her gear and her clothes onto the floor to pick up later. Just like a tavern, a tray of soaps and oils had been set out for her, and Beau would have _hated_ to see it all go to waste. 

The pipes groaned before spitting out a dribble of cold water. Beau braced her muscles to stop herself moving out of the stream, waiting for it to rise to a pleasant lukewarm temperature before she'd soaped and rinsed. Lastly, she threw away her ribbon and allowed her hair to fall, washing it thoroughly.

Afterwards, she stood under the water, feeling it pour down her back as she bent her head down. She pressed her forehead to the cold tiles. Her mind faded into dullness, her surroundings an illusion cloaked in steam and fog. The sensation of water always soothed her; took her mind off of things. And sadly, many things were on her mind. Poor Beauregard couldn't pick which one was more stressful.

Her mind was a whirlwind of the Eyes of Nine, of Trent, of the dinner, of Eiselcross and Vess DeRogna, of Mollymauk, of Yasha—

_Deep breath in. Exhale. Deep breath in. Exhale._

_Recognize the signs of your personal stress response. Is your mind racing? Centre yourself. Is your heart rate elevated? Slow it down. Are your fists clenched? Let your muscles go slack._

_Deep breath in. Exhale. Deep breath in. Exhale._

Beauregard checked each sign, her body growing more relaxed. Allowing her thoughts and worries to meet with the water, swirling down the drain. (Well… except for one…)

A few minutes later, Beau stepped over her clothes and opened the door, a towel wrapped around her torso. She hummed a unique little tune to herself, glancing around for her razor so she could clean up her undercut—

Beau's face went blank with confusion. The cogs in her brain couldn't turn fast enough to take in the information her wide eyes were presented with. 

Lying face down in her bed was none other than Yasha. The barbarian's face was buried into the pillow, her arms stretched above her head. Matted black and white hair obscured her face almost entirely, a pale cheek peeking out. Her boots lay scattered on the floor, as though she had tumbled right onto the bed and fallen asleep immediately. Her back rose and fell with each breath, followed by a soft snore. 

She could feel the heat growing in her cheeks. _This isn't how my 'Yasha-is-in-my-bed' dreams go, so I know I'm awake,_ she thought. 

She tentatively neared Yasha, placing a hand on her shoulder. She shook it gently. No response. She shook again, harder this time. No response. She went back into the bathroom to retrieve her staff from the floor and prodded Yasha's head with it.

That seemed to do it. Because with a startled groan, Yasha slowly sat up in the bed. A few strands of hair were stuck to her cheek, glued on with drool. She tossed her head back at Beau, one eye slightly parted while the other was shut. She let out a long, drawn-out yawn before speaking.

"... Hello," she said, voice low and speech slurred. 

Beau placed her staff against the wall. "What — _ayyy-uhhh_ — what are you doing here?" she asked, putting her hands on her knees as she bent down to Yasha's level. 

"... Sleeping," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the shower."

"Oh."

"Yup."

"That explains the towel."

"It does."

Yasha nodded, one eye blinking up at her. 

Beau nodded back in kind. When the lengthy silence became uncomfortable, she asked, "Why are you sleeping in my bed?" 

And to that, the barbarian's eyes snapped wide open. In all of their months of travelling, Beauregard had never seen Yasha blush. She had always been stoic, calm, and cool. Never flinching. Yet here she was, her face a brilliant red and eyes darting around wildly with no idea where to look. 

Beau had to suppress a grin.

The back of her hand swiped her chin and cheek, brushing away her hair. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry. I thought this was mine. There's a lot of blue in here, and wood, and the—" Yasha gestured to tapestry, then pushed herself off the bed. She grabbed her boots off the floor, frantically putting them on. "I wasn't— I didn't mean— I wasn't trying to be creepy—"

"Yasha, _relax_ ," Beau told her. "You weren’t being creepy. So take it down to a two." She stuck her leg out. "I would have worn something fancier if I knew I had a guest." 

Yasha had all but frozen in place, quickly looking down at her leg before turning her head away. Her cheeks and nose were still pink. 

To defuse the tension, Beau balled her fist and gave Yasha's shoulder a nudge with it. "Besides, last time I checked, sleeping in weird places isn't a crime."

Finally, she chuckled. "I'd be in serious trouble otherwise." 

"You'd be the Empire's most wanted serial sleeper. And as Expositor, I have to stop your heinous serial sleeping." She tightened her towel to make sure it wouldn't slip. "Right. Give me a sec to change, then I'll help find your room. Can't be too difficult, right?" 

xXx

"What do you mean you miscounted?!" Beau crossed her arms over her chest, foot tapping on the tile as she stared Caleb down.

She and Yasha had searched the mansion high and low; individually checked all the luxurious bedrooms (carefully since everyone was asleep by this stage), scanned all the grand halls, looked around the library, the grand kitchen, the dining room. Nothing. 

And if you're lost, why not ask the architect for directions? 

Caleb was leaning against the doorway, still scratching sleep from his eyes. He was dressed in striped pyjamas, Frumpkin lounging across his shoulders. His tail lazily flickered in the air as he watched the events unfold.

"The spell gives me complete control over the structure of the mansion," Caleb explained. "It is furnished and decorated as I choose. It is with great embarrassment that I admit that I must have…" He lost his voice. 

She felt her jaw drop. "Dude! That is not cool!" 

Behind her, Yasha finally raised her voice; "It's fine, I'll just—"

"No," Beau said, raising a hand to her. "It's not fine. We're a family. No one gets left behind, left out, or forgotten. And this place is meant to be our home." She turned back to Caleb, eyes narrowing. "Apologize and add in the room." 

"I can't — at least not tonight," he said. His hand ran down his face. "Once the mansion has been conjured, it cannot be edited or changed. At least to that degree." He looked over Beau's shoulder, brows furrowed. "Yasha, this wasn't done maliciously. I must have counted a room twice by accident. Or something to that effect. And I promise that this won't happen again." He let out a long sigh. "It was a simple mistake after a long day."

At this, Beauregard felt her heart sink lower in her chest. Regret washed over her like the long slow waves on a shallow beach. Each wave icy cold, sending shivers down her spine. Nothing about that dinner was easy. But for him… 

_Dammit, Beau. You moron. You shouldn't have gone in so hard._

"It's fine," Yasha said, quietly. "I understand. And I do mean that."

Beau bowed her head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped."

Caleb gave a small nod. "Yes, it's quite alright." He then cleared his throat with a cough. "Back to the matter at hand. Because of how late it is, I'd suggest sharing the room for tonight." 

"Is that alright with you?" Yasha asked. "I don't mind sleeping on the couch."

Her guilt was swiftly moved to silent alarm as Beau's mind raced. Her mouth was unable to keep up with her own thoughts. "I mean— I — Yeah man. _Pfssshhhhh._ I don't mind. I'm chill. I'm down. Down with whatever makes you comfortable." To try and seem natural, she flashed hand-horns to Caleb. "Get some rest, bro. We'll talk in the morning." 

"... Goodnight, Beauregard." 

She nodded her head, totally not panicking. Not at all. What's fear? Nothing Beauregard Lionett had ever felt, that's for sure! 

And with feigned confidence, Beau trudged back to her room. No; _their_ room. At least for that night. 

xXx

Beau's reflection stared back at her, as she quickly jogged on the spot. Gone were her Expositor robes, having been neatly folded and tucked away. Now she was in a simple navy tee and bottoms. She stopped her jog, stretching her arms one side and the next. 

"Beauregard. You are a renowned fuck-up," she told her reflection. She tilted her head to the side, left and right, hearing a satisfying pop. Gritting her teeth, she tied her hair up into a sloppy bun, pulling the ribbon tight. "But not tonight. You got this _._ Why? Because you’re a badass. You just need to act cool. Don’t you dare be weird. You hear me?" 

She scrunched up her face, tapping the glass with her index finger, making fierce eye contact with herself… then let herself fall slack. " _Fuck._ I'm doomed."

At least she tried. 

She quickly opened the ensuite door back out into the bedroom.

This time, she witnessed an even stranger sight than before. Yasha was tying a bed sheet around her torso, wrapping a tight knot on her side. A makeshift nightgown. Her attention quickly slid to the bed, which had a line of pillows down the centre. 

The barbarian followed Beau's eyeline. "I was worried sharing the bed might make you feel uncomfortable, so I hope this helps," she said, patting one of the pillows. "Take whatever side you'd like."

"And what's with the sheets?" Beau asked as she made her way to the right-hand side.

"I normally sleep naked. Or in my full garb. So I improvised as best I could." 

Feeling heat crawl up her neck and face, Beau let out a strained, "Nice, bro." 

Yasha's face crinkled, her eyes shutting slightly as she smiled. For a moment, Beau had to stop and admire it. The barbarian brought up her hand, sticking up her index finger and her pinkie. "That's good to hear, bro."

"You have no idea what that symbol means, do you?" Beau asked.

"No. But I wanted to feel trendy." 

"Gods, you're so cute."

"Hmm?" 

"I said, would you mind blowing out the candles for me? You have the advantage of height." 

"Oh! Sure! No problem!" 

To take her mind off things, Beau reverently stroked her fingers along the silken mattress before toppling into the bed. Allowing her weary feet to finally rest. The mattress sunk under her weight, and she snuggled deeper into the silken duvet. A comforting warmth enveloped her body.

One by one, Yasha blew out each of the candles. The room was enveloped with darkness. The moonlight shining through the window offered her glimpses of the other woman — a broad silhouette moving hither and thither in the gloom.

The bed creaked, and Beau felt the mattress sink even further as Yasha joined.

"Come on," she whispered, chiding the bed. "I'm not that heavy. No need to be dramatic."

"It's a bed made by Caleb Widogast," Beau said. "It can't help but be dramatic." 

" _Still._ " 

An uncomfortable silence descended.

Beau turned onto her back, staring up at the black ceiling above her. She could make out the faint wisps of smoke still linger, watching it slowly dissipate into nothing. A sliver of white, then gone. 

A lingering haze of sleep sat somewhere at the back of her mind, too far away to reach, floating in the pool of her memories. Eyes that won't close. A heart that won't stop hammering. The room would have felt like a dark, endless space if it weren't for Yasha. 

Even though the pillows separated them, Beau could still feel the edges of her warmth. One so familiar but, at the same time, so foreign to her. This was the first time they had slept alone together. Beau was more used to Jester's restlessness and sleep talk. Yasha, on the other hand, was utterly silent. Completely still. 

The sudden crinkle of bedsheets almost sounded deafening. Beau saw Yasha's head peered over the fortress of pillows. 

"I want to tell you something," Yasha whispered. "I'll be quick, I promise."

Beau squinted over at her, but nevertheless rested her chin atop of the pillow. Their noses were now centimetres apart. "Shoot," she said.

There was a slight pause. "I know it was an accident, and I'm sure Caleb feels awful, but… I wanted to thank you. For sticking up for me." Beau could sense Yasha bashfully look downward. A comfort action for when she was trying to find the right words. "I'm not great at talking to people. Or expressing things. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed."

She let out a wry laugh. "I don't think any of us are."

"You're great at talking to people."

Beau rolled her eyes. "Oh _please_ —"

"I mean it! You seem so confident. And you're always yourself, no matter who you’re talking to. I always… it's like my tongue gets too heavy for my mouth. I don't know how to form words. I don't know where to look, and then I start overthinking my posture. And I never know what to do with my hands." Yasha raised her hands to her face, inspecting them. "They're so big. You know?" 

"Yeah, yeah," she breathed, then wiggled her eyebrows. "You know what they say about women and big hands."

"What do they say?"

"N-nevermind," Beau stammered. "Continue." 

Another pause. "I've noticed how much you look after me. You always ask for my opinion, and you're patient as I come up with an answer. You include me with the group. You always have my back. But it's not just my back, either. You do the same with the rest of the Nein. Always. Every time. I might not be the loudest, I'm not great at grand gestures, and I might fumble over my words... but I want to give you the same attention and care you give to me. I want to have your back too."

For a moment, Beau was rendered speechless. Her voice lost to the wind, as her words sank in. Teeth burrowing into her thick skin. "Hearing that from you— it means a lot, Yasha," she eventually managed to croak out. “I just assumed I came off as, I dunno, odd to you.” 

"You're _magnificent_ , Beau,” she said. Her tone was so quiet, so soft, yet full of such reverence. “And I feel as though you're not reminded enough. Sometimes I'm afraid my silence is read as indifference. As if I don't care. But I care. A lot. I care so much." He let out a shuddering breath, and Beau could feel it tickle her cheek. "I'm not used to talking this much. I'm sorry. _Whew._ I'm, ah, pooped."

She could no longer hold herself back.

Beau reached up, tracing her lips lightly with the finger. Under her touch, she felt it pout slightly. There was an urge to kiss them. To pull Yasha over her like a blanket and lie there with her. To feel her breath roll over her skin. Feel her heartbeat against her chest. It would have been so effortless.

Yasha's lips felt chapped under her feather-light graze, but Beau simply couldn't bring herself to give a damn. She traced over her tattoo, gazing intently into the ink as if it could map out ancient seas. 

And she doesn't want to look up. Because if she did, Beau would find herself at the mercy of those questioning eyes. One a vibrant teal. The other, a pale violet. 

She felt the pillows be cast away, followed by a muffled thump as they hit the floor. One by one. Until there wasn't anything separating them anymore. Beau felt a hand gently cup her chin, tilting her head up. 

Her breathing hastened, her heart slapping in her chest. A bird wanting to be free from its cage.

Shivers raced down Beau's back as their lips finally touched. 

Her very bones ached as that chill melted away into a warmth. Yasha moved her hand from Beau's chin to the back of her head, her fingers tangling in Beau's hair. She felt the ribbon fall loose, her hair collapsing past her shoulders. Yasha pulled her in further, adding more pressure to their lips, deepening the kiss. The intoxicating smell of —

She pulled back for a moment, heaving slightly.

"Did I do something wrong?" Yasha asked, panting as well, her voice trembling with fear.

Beau bobbed her head, letting out an embarrassed laugh. "You _do_ smell like crayons," she declared, then reached up again, feeling Yasha smile against her kiss. The two became entangled, as beautiful and as complicated as the tapestry hanging on the wall. 

Night bore onward, eventually washed away with the new light. The shadows and stars were chased away, ushering in another day. 

Caleb sat alone in the dining hall, a cup of tea already brewed in front of him and a book resting on his lap. He slouched in the desk chair as he read. Periodically, Caleb would catch himself doing it and straighten up, pushing his shoulders backwards and the small of his back upwards and in, sitting taller, more erect. He told himself to mind his back… only to forget a few words later and resume his slouching.

Every so often his eyes would flicker off the page, surveying each member of his family. First Caduceus. Then Fjord. Later Veth and Jester. All announced their mornings and sang their praises of the mansion. 

And yet, as the hours passed, still no sign of either Beau or Yasha.

There, in his seat, a smug smile crept along the wizard's face. Only one thought kept passing his mind; _Imagine having one bad day and not being able to do basic math. I certainly can't dream of it._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this just before episode 111. This is my form of manifesting.


End file.
